


The True Story of Cinderella

by vivaforever597



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivaforever597/pseuds/vivaforever597
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella's heard all of the gossip about her rise to power, and she wants to set the record straight. A retelling of "Cinderella" in a modern setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The True Story of Cinderella

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a course I took in International Children's Literature in which we were to create an adaptation of a fairy tale that altered either the characters (e.g., genderbending) or the setting (e.g., modern AU). I chose the latter, but in doing so altered some of the characters' personalities, particularly Ella's, to better fit it.
> 
> Rated G, but contains brief mild profanity (K+ on FF.net's scale).

If you have a telly, or an Internet connection, or an AM radio, or a neighbour who sends you smoke signals — any form of connection to the outside world, really — by now you've doubtless heard of me. But you shouldn't believe a word of what you think you know. Well, I take that back. Believe a few words here and there. Even the most far-out gossip usually has its basis in fact. But the tabloid press has, as ever, given in to its tendency to exaggerate. This talk of witches and frogs and plots for world domination? Ridiculous. Total fabrications, and edging on libelous. Actually, I probably _could_ file complaints of libel, but those stories are so far off from the truth that I can only laugh at them. Do these people really expect their readers to believe that nonsense?

Well, I guess that brings me to my point. They do expect to be believed — but they won't be anymore, now that I'm here to explain what really happened.

I'm Ella, and this is my story — my _real_ story.

# # #

I suppose I should start at the beginning, with the details of my birth and so on, but I won't bore you with that. I was born 23 years ago on the 20th of November, normal birth, happy parents, et cetera, et cetera. Nothing exciting.

The first event of relevance to my story took place a couple of years on. My mother was killed in a car accident as she was traveling home from the theatre where she was props master. To this day I don't know the details. I don't want to. I've done all I can to avoid learning them. I was so young that I barely remember my mother, and I'm not even sure if the memories I have are real, or if they've implanted themselves from home movies. But I do know that for as much as I would have liked to know my mother, I always felt safe with my father.

I suppose I shouldn't say "always." I felt safe for a while, but then Eileen came into the picture. I know I said the tabloids have exaggerated my history, but when they cast Eileen as wicked, or even downright evil, you can believe it. She is, to use one of her own expressions, a witch — with a capital B. She is the most manipulative and most materialistic person I have ever had the misfortune of knowing. If I sound a little bitter, well, I am. Much as I loved my father, I could not and can not understand how he was blind to her all-around nastiness. Even at six, I understood that she was marrying my father for our money — as a film producer, he was not exactly ill-paid — but I suppose my father was simply too naïve to question her insistence that she was in love with him and held true affection for me as well.

But even I underestimated Eileen's wickedness while my father was alive. He inadvertently served as a buffer against her loathing of me. She didn't want to upset me, I suppose, because she knew I'd run to him, and she couldn't risk his siding with me. But when my father died of a premature heart attack, I was not only a nine-year-old orphan, but with no blood relatives able to adopt me, I was a nine-year-old who suddenly found herself in the singular care — if I can use that word — of her stepmother.

This is perhaps the best place to pause for a moment to explain something. I truly do not understand why Eileen hates me so. Even her daughters, Lily and Heidi, though they made no secret while we lived under the same roof of their disdain for me, aren't truly mean. Superficial, and a bit stupid, certainly. But not mean. Eileen, by comparison, has seemed to hold a grudge against me ever since we first met.

That grudge, bizarre as it is, must have been what led her to oppress me all these years. My father had not bothered to specify monies to be set aside for me in his will, probably believing himself to be in good enough health that he needn't worry about my monetary needs until I was a good few years older. Result: Eileen had complete control over the household's purse-strings. While she and my stepsisters owned only the highest-quality and most fashionable clothes, I was given simple, and comparatively shabby, T-shirts and jeans.

What's more, while my stepsisters received anything they desired — laptops, smartphones, bloody home theatre systems for their bedrooms! — I was made to clean the house, an almost continuous cycle of Swiffering, vacuuming, washing dishes (for reasons I'll never understand, a dishwasher was not among the innumerable amenities my father supplied for the house). Eileen never directly threatened me, but she didn't need to. Whenever she gave me an order, the ultimatum was clear: I complied, or I was out on the street (proverbially _and_ literally). It would have been an act of questionable legality, but with her powers of manipulation, I had and have no doubt that she could have accomplished it, with no questions asked by any judge.

So, that gives you a picture of my life from my tenth year until my twenty-second: stable, but quite unpleasant. I could not even gain an escape at school, where I was teased mercilessly for my low-budget clothes and possessions, nor in a career. I would have happily taken up a job and pay for my own home, even if it meant abandoning my father's fortune, but Eileen forbad it. "Why would you work," she asked, "when you can stay at home? We have enough money. No need to put yourself out." But of course, she really just wanted to keep me around as essentially unpaid labour. And with her pull in the community, I knew that she could make my life a living hell if I didn't agree with her, so I kept on at home, hoping I would eventually find a way out.

"No need to put yourself out" — I guess she didn't see the irony.

My stable, uncomfortable life began to change, though — as you well know, if you've heard of me (and if you haven't, why are you reading this? I can't imagine you wouldn't have grown bored and stopped by now). But you may not know that that change began when I did something you probably do each day.

I turned on the telly.

# # #

"Prince Carey of Vectoria will hold a ball exactly one week from today," the breakfast-news anchor intoned. "All people of his kingdom are, reportedly, invited to attend. No confirmation as to the reason for the ball, but some speculate that the prince is searching for" — in that sickly-sweet "isn't that adorable" voice that news anchors use — "that special someone. Now, for more on this story, here's our society correspondent..."

Why that caught my attention, I don't know. It's not as if I've been to a lot of society events.

Well, that's a lie. I'm sure it's precisely _because_ I've been out so little in society that I was fascinated with the prospect of going to this grand ball. Even then, though, I knew that prospect was an extremely unlikely one.

That suspicion was only reinforced as the date of the ball grew ever closer. My stepmother and stepsisters spoke endlessly of the event, yet never mentioned or included me in those conversations. After years of staying at home while they had their fun, I got the picture: I wasn't invited.

Eventually, the night of the ball came upon us. As I'd suspected would happen — though I'd hoped to the contrary — Eileen and my stepsisters had acquired fine, tailor-made clothes for the occasion. I had not. They had plans to meet with their friends from the city. I did not.

In short, I was not going to the ball. I was to stay at home and — in a surprising turn of events — clean.

Mercifully, the others' departure was a fairly quick affair, meaning that there was little time for me to show my disappointment at the turn of events. I told my stepsisters that I was happy enough to stay behind while they enjoyed themselves. But I was lying: once they were off, I sat down and cried. For the umpteenth time, my hopes had been dashed.

Or so it seemed until I heard a knock on the door.

I opened it to reveal a short woman dressed in an old-fashioned cloak.

"Hello, Ella," she said gently. "I know this may come as a surprise, dear, but I happen to be your fairy godmother."

Why I believed her, I don't know. But I'm glad I did. At any rate, I acted the part of the polite hostess, ushering my guest in and asking her name.

"I'm afraid you couldn't really pronounce my name, Ella," she replied with a smile, "so why don't you call me... hmm, Louise seems nice. But there are more important matters to attend to!" She clapped her hands, like an excited young child. "Unless I'm very much mistaken — and that doesn't happen very often — you would like to go to the prince's marvellous ball."

I admitted as much, but when I began to clarify, explaining that I had no vehicle and telling my story, she waved as if to brush my words aside.

"I know these things already, child. Never underestimate a fairy godmother." (I wondered how I could be expected to predict a fairy godmother's behaviour, never having met one before.) "Now, if you'll be so good as to find me a pumpkin, I'll search out some other items." It was an unusual request, but I trusted my instinct to honour it. But when I returned to the front yard with a pumpkin I'd taken from our garden, I found that it was positively normal in comparison to Louise's other materials.

"Two chickadees and a squirrel?" I blurted as I saw the animals standing patiently (as no birds or squirrels had, I was sure, ever done in the course of world history). "What do you need those for?"

Louise gave me a genuinely confused look and gestured to the pumpkin. "Well, what would I do with _that_ without them? Now, I'll take that, dear..."

She lifted the pumpkin from my hands and placed it on the ground in front of her, then murmured something unintelligible (to me, anyway) as she gently caressed it. As I watched, it grew and changed shape until it had become an old-fashioned horse-drawn carriage. I looked on speechless as she repeated the process, turning the squirrel into a fashionably-clad coachman and the chickadees into the finest white horses I have ever seen.

I was, as you can imagine, quite stunned. Louise, however, simply smiled with pride at her work.

"There! Isn't that a pleasant way to travel!" she declared.

"Well... well, yes, and thank you very much, but isn't it a bit... a bit old-fashioned?" I replied.

Louise grinned, as if she had been waiting for me to ask that question. "Of course, darling, but it will set you apart from the crowd! Don't you want to make" — she dropped her voice dramatically — " _an impression?_ " I supposed I did, and I couldn't truly argue with her logic.

She turned to face me fully and nodded sharply. "Now, to do something about those clothes." She closed her eyes, murmured again, and waved her hand in front of me. When she finished, I looked down at myself. Imagine my shock at seeing a designer outfit on myself (and a rather nice-looking one, too, I might add. Not like that rubbish they praise on the telly). But Louise wasn't done yet: from a pocket of her cloak, she produced a pair of high heels that looked to be made out of lucite. They were beautiful in a strange way, but I still had a concern: having never had such fine clothes in my life, I was unsure of my ability to walk in those shoes, and I said as much.

Louise laughed brightly, as if I'd told an amusing story. "Oh, that! They're platforms, Ella. You'll learn quickly. Now, don't worry about that," she continued, "but there is a caveat on all of these actions. I'm afraid I can only sustain my transformations for five hours. Considering your distance from the palace, the speed of the horses... hmm... I'd say you'll need to leave there by midnight, at the latest, unless you want the carriage to return to its true state and leave you with no way to return home. I suppose it _would_ make a nice pie, though," she added thoughtfully. "Now, go, darling! Enjoy yourself." She hugged me; I expressed my great gratitude; and then, almost before I knew it, I was on my way to the most fabulous ball I would ever be likely to attend.

# # #

Much to my (rather pleasant) surprise, I was the focus of much attention at the palace. I've since learned that since I was unknown to the people there, they treated me as well as they knew how out of fear that I was a foreign head of state whom they'd forgotten about! There was, however, one person who seemed to genuinely appreciate me.

Shortly after I arrived, I was greeted by a voice just behind me, welcoming me to the ball. I turned around to face the person speaking to find none other than Prince Carey, the face that had appeared so relentlessly on my telly screen.

"I noticed you didn't seem to have anyone accompanying you," he began. "Do you not know anyone in attendance?"

"Well," I began, "I do vaguely know those ladies," following the statement with a gesture toward Eileen and my stepsisters.

"Oh. Them," he said flatly.

I saw that he didn't appraise them much more highly than I did myself. "I beg you not to judge me by the company I keep," I said with a chuckle.

"It would be a shame for such a lovely person to spend her time her without meeting anyone new," he said, returning my smile and extending his hand. "I'm Carey. How nice to meet you... ?"

"Cyndi," I supplied as I shook his hand. _Well, I don't want to give him my real name, do I?_ I thought. _He'll learn that I'm_ their _stepsister, and_ her _stepdaughter, and I can't have that. Besides, it's not as if we'll meet again._

"Well, then, Cyndi, shall we have a dance? I'm afraid I haven't really found a worthy partner," he said. _A_ worthy _partner?_ I thought. _Bit cocky, innit?_

And then I had another thought. I had never in my life attempted the art of ballroom dancing, and I couldn't imagine that I'd be very good.

I was quite pleased to discover that I was, in actuality, not only good, but more graceful than I had ever thought myself. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than I realised that my grace was not merely internal: it was enhanced by the shoes. I said a silent thank-you to Louise for foreseeing another difficulty.

As the dance came to an end, I went to seat myself for a moment. To my dismay, the only place was with my so-called family. I feared that they would recognise me and take the opportunity, as they so often did, to belittle me, and thus to spoil the wonderful time I had been having. I needn't have worried, though — they were so used to seeing me in shabby clothes that my appearance prevented them from recognising me as myself, though they swore they knew me from somewhere. "Somewhere," of course, meaning to them "the telly."

"Weren't you on _Come Dancing_?" suggested Lily.

"No, no, a game show, wasn't it? _The Weakest Link_ , I think," supplied Heidi.

I laughed brightly. "I'm sorry, but I have never appeared on any television programme. It's the truth!" I added in response to their protestations.

The ball continued as such: I danced again with Carey, chatted politely with my stepsisters (Eileen, unsurprisingly, didn't like me even as another person), had a dance with one or two other gentlemen... and so on. But then, in the midst of a third dance with Carey — he obviously had come to like me and, I thought, to be a bit infatuated with me — a most annoying thing happened.

The clock struck midnight.

_Damn it_ , I thought. _I lost track of time! Now, to make my excuses and get away..._

"It's been a really wonderful time," I told Carey gratefully, stepping away from him, "but I'm really afraid I must go."

"Why?" he asked, stunned. "I've been enjoying our time so much, and —"

I cut him off. "I've enjoyed myself immensely as well, but I'm afraid I'm well and truly out of time." I gave him a parting smile, then turned and walked as quickly as I could in my heels. To my mixed annoyance and pleasure, he followed me, protesting my departure. His pursuit led me to make my gait even faster, and only as I tripped over the bottom step exiting the palace did I realise I was going far too fast to maintain my balance. I steadied myself quickly, but my lovely shoes fell off. I thought about recovering them, but it would have meant facing Carey, and much as I'd come to like him, even in so short a time, I felt a great discomfort in the possibility that he could learn anything more about me. After all, I'd only come to get away from the house for a single night. Small enough compensation for the years over which I'd worked so hard.

In my stocking feet, I ran to the carriage, which departed before the prince could reach it. I was safe. I had made my escape.

# # #

Or so I thought until the next morning. I turned on the telly as I sorted laundry and was greeted with my own image. "Listen, you guys!" the chat-show host bellowed. "You know the big ball the prince of Vectoria had last night? Well, it seems he met a gal!" The audience applauded. (Why, I don't know. Chat show audiences seem to applaud at the slightest provocation.) "But he doesn't even know her full name" (sympathetic "aww"s from the audience), "so he's decided to send one of the ministers in his cabinet — I guess when you're a small country like Vectoria, you can spare your cabinet members for this kind of thing — around to all the homes and try to find the woman whose feet will fit into the shoes this mystery lady left behind." She slapped her leg in amazement. "I mean, that's not what I'd call efficient, and that poor politician — I don't know, I wouldn't want that job, know what I mean?"

By all rights, I should have been frightened. There was now a possibility that I would be found out. But in truth, I was rather excited. It seemed I'd made quite an impression on the prince, and I was well chuffed to learn it. Besides, I could hide away when and if the minister came to our house. And the more I thought about it, the less likely that prospect seemed: we lived fairly close to the palace, but surely, by the time he would have made his way here, he would find at least one or two ladies who would fit into my shoes?

Of course, I was wrong. We were interrupted three days later by a knock on the door.

"Cinderella, answer that!" Eileen commanded. As ever, I complied, and I was greeted by a man I vaguely recognised as someone I'd seen at the ball. I instantly knew that he was the minister sent to find me, so I did the only thing I could: I ushered him in, called my stepsisters into the room, then hid in another room. Part of me wanted to try on the shoes, knowing that they would fit and that I would be reunited with the prince. But part of me was scared: not only that the prince would learn that I had lied about my identity, but that I would be thrust into a completely foreign environment.

As Lily and Heidi sat for the minister and tried on the shoes, I heard him telling them and Eileen of his trials in reuniting the heels and their owner. "It's the strangest thing," he said. "They aren't that small, but no one can quite fit into them." I smiled at Louise's cleverness: she must have enchanted the shoes so that no one but me could wear them. In the other room, the minister paused as Heidi grunted in frustration, then said for the second time, "Sorry, miss. You aren't quite right, either." I heard rustling noises as he began to rewrap the shoes. But then he stopped.

"Say," he began, "what about the young lady who let me in?"

"Ella?" Eileen scoffed. "I hardly think you need to waste your time on her. I assure you, she was not in attendance at the prince's ball. Or any other ball, for that matter."

"Sorry, ma'am, but my instructions are clear. I'm to try to fit the shoes to each woman under thirty in the kingdom." The minister's voice took on a clear weariness as he contemplated what was to come for him over the next several days. "Now, where is that young woman?"

And then I committed the greatest act of bravery I had performed to date.

"Here I am," I said as I entered the room.

The minister tried to smile, but he couldn't quite hide his skepticism that a rather shabbily-dressed, ill-poised girl would be the one to finish his job for him. My stepsisters were not so kind, giving me openly pitying (and somewhat patronising) looks. Eileen just sneered.

I took my seat opposite the minister and removed my shoes. He held the right platform in his hands and neatly slipped it onto my foot. Then, with an expression of awe, he did the same with the left. When it fit just as easily, I rose to my feet, not bothering to suppress a smile of triumph.

Lily looked amazed. Heidi looked shocked. Eileen looked contemptuous.

The minister just looked relieved. "Well," he said slowly, "it appears my job has come to its close. Would you mind returning with me to the palace, Miss..."

"Ella," I replied. "My name is Ella."

# # #

More than likely, you know some outline of what happened then. I arrived at the palace for the second time in under a week. Carey recognised me at once, and in talking with him, I was assured that he fancied me based on my personality as much as my looks, and that he appreciated me even in my relatively simple work clothes.

Eventually, we decided to marry. The wedding was little short of a circus, with every news magazine and chat show sending a team to cover this unusual union, but I managed to ignore the press blitz. Eileen and my stepsisters showed up, Lily and Heidi at least having the grace to be sheepish about their years of rudeness to me. Nice gal that I am (on occasion, at least), I invited them to live in the palace, an invitation that they eagerly accepted. After all, how could they resist living in the most exciting and fashionable building in the land, and possibly the world? I have softened toward my stepsisters; as I said, they aren't bad people, just on the materialistic side. Eileen and I will never get along, but in a palace this size, I don't have to see her except when I want to.

As to Louise, I only saw her once more. The day before my wedding, she walked up to me in my dressing room as if it were something she did every day. After thanking her profusely for changing my life so profoundly, I asked the question that had been worrying me for some time.

"How will I dance again as well as before, now that the enchantment has worn off of the shoes?"

Louise smiled at me, as a mother might smile when she was proud of her child. "Why wouldn't you, Ella? You've danced before: of course you can do so again. Have confidence, child — you can do more than you think you can." She paused a moment and gave me another smile, this one tinged with sadness. "Now I think I must take my leave," she told me. "But you must know, Ella, that I will stay with you in spirit."

At that, she gave me a quick hug, then turned away, as if to cross to the parking structure — yes, we have a parking structure; why shouldn't we? — but before she got there, I blinked, and she had disappeared, as if she was carried away by the wind.


End file.
